Just Can't Stay Away
by Dizzy-Dreamer
Summary: She couldn't keep away – and for that, he was truly thankful. - post-Olympics drabble.
1. you just can't stay away

_I wanted to make this part of a longer piece but I didn't have the heart to spoil what turned out to be the perfect end note._

* * *

"You just can't stay away, can you?" that familiar voice warmed her soul as she stood just inside the doors of the gym that built her. Looking up into the rafters and breathing in the comforting, chemical smell of mat cleaner and chalk, Payson smiled: The Rock was like coming home.

Across a gym full of people flipping and flying through the air, Sasha still managed to spot her walking in. He made a beeline through the hustle and bustle to her, lifted her into his arms and swung her around.

"My champion!" he exclaimed as he set her back on her feet. Payson laughed a rich, heartfelt song that sparkled in her eyes and danced across her face. He had missed that sound. "What can I do for you?"

"I tried sitting at home, Sasha, I really did," she began, almost pleading. They walked slowly towards the steps to the office and sat on them, watching gymnasts training the way she had done every day since childhood. "I just couldn't do it."

"How long?" he asked. They sat side by side, shoulders touching, eyes straight ahead. The beauty of their relationship meant they could communicate in few words – and sometimes, with no words at all. Over the years they had developed a relationship far beyond that of a coach and his athlete; they had become fast friends—best friends.

"Two days," Payson answered with a sigh. "I got back from DC and sat at home and I just can't. I can't!"

"You're not thinking of training again?" he asked, a warning tone evident in his voice.

"God, no," Payson almost laughed. "Forget my back, I don't think my _psyche _could handle competing again. I am _done _with all that – with elite sports comes elite level drama!" she reminded him, emphasising the word drama. Sasha immediately thought of the constant love triangles and fall-outs involving Lauren and Kaylie and laughed heartily.

"Well, you're always welcome here," Sasha reminded her. "Champions are _always _welcome here."

Payson turned to see Sasha smiling softly at her, blue eyes dancing under fluorescent gym lights. She remembered the first time he'd said those exact words to her, the first time she had returned to The Rock after breaking her back. Walking slowly with a frame, strapped firmly into a solid back brace, it had taken all her strength, both physical and mental, to cross the threshold.

"Speaking of champions," Payson broke their silence after a moment, averting her gaze. "I still have your medal here."

"Hand it over, Keeler. The deal was a loan, until you had your own medal. Now you have – what is it, four? Five?"

"Five. And a silver." She answered smugly. She hadn't failed to notice the banners on the wall, proudly displaying her face and title of Olympic Champion. She dug into her bag and pulled out the medal Sasha had given her two years ago.

"Thanks for the loan," she said, pressing it into his hand with a small nod.

"I knew you'd come through," he said, voice low. "I always had faith in you."

Payson leant her head against his shoulder and smiled, watching the activity on the gym floor.

"Your yellow-leo girl needs to square her hips more," she stated, observing a gymnast practicing on the beam.

"So go and tell her," Sasha said. He reached his hand behind Payson and gave her a light, friendly shove. He smiled as he watched her skip down the steps and jog across the gym, eyes lighting up as she immersed herself back into her sport.

She couldn't keep away – and for that, he was truly thankful.


	2. you don't keep cereal here

His truck was still parked in the space marked with his name and a familiar dim orange light filled the doorway as it spilled from the lobby. Payson pushed open the doors, breathing in the scent of fresh cleaner and old chalk. It was comforting, like an old blanket, and it enveloped her with its warmth as she made her way across the dark gym to the only source of soft light: the elevated office. As she crossed the room, she imagined Sasha sitting there—frustratedly running fingers through sandy hair, a mountain of paperwork as tall as her arms were long piled precariously on his desk—she would most likely end up doing most of it for him.

He became aware of her presence as she pushed the sliding glass door aside to step into the room, but it took him a full minute to lift his head from his hands. She had walked in to find him cradling his head, elbows on the desk and paper strewn everywhere.

"I thought you left ages ago," he acknowledged her with a furrowed brow, just a hint of confusion present in his tone.

"I did," she confirmed. "Then I came back." She held up the paper bag she had been carrying in her right hand. "And I brought sustenance."

A tired smile graced Sasha's lips and he pushed away from the desk, unfolding his body and stretching each vertebra as he stood to his full height.

"How do you know I haven't eaten already?" He picked his way through the papers scattered around his desk to the small leather sofa against the back wall. Payson raised an eyebrow in a look that clearly said 'are you stupid?'

"I know you, Sasha Belov," she began with a light scoff. "You haven't been home and I know for a fact you don't keep cereal here."

"And how do you know that?" he rebutted playfully. "Besides, I could have ordered in."

"Your car hasn't moved an inch," she began deconstructing the scene before her. "The place doesn't smell like food—other than this—" she indicated the paper bag in her hand. "—and there are no containers on your desk or in the garbage." Payson sat, leaning back into the plush leather. Sasha raised his hands in mock defeat.

"You win, Detective Keeler," he teased. His laughter was strained. Lines surrounded his eyes and as Payson watched him dig into one of the boxes of vegetable stir fry she had bought, she furrowed her brow. Those lines hadn't been nearly as prominent a week ago. They ate in silence for a while before Payson spoke up.

"What's eating you, Sasha?"

He gestured to the papers spread around much of the office. "There's this… and there's—" he stopped short of finishing his sentence, torn between opening his heart and not upsetting the careful balance of their relationship. Payson looked at him curiously.

"—and there's the Rock awards," he finally continued. "We need to work out who will win what—including your cup." He smiled weakly, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. Payson returned his tight smile, bravely ignoring the lack of sparkle usually present in his faded denim irises.

"Well, we'd better get to work!" she stood and stretched before crouching to read the papers on the floor. All were marked 'confidential'.

"Sasha, all you need to do is file these," she instructed. Sasha paused his clearing away of their food to look over at her, frowning.

"Why couldn't Summer or your mum have done that?"

"Because you ought to look at them first—_and _they're confidential, so only you or I or any of the other coaches should see them. It's all medical and personal stuff—you just need to look at it and file it."

Sasha rolled his eyes and held out a hand as Payson gathered the papers into a pile to hand over. He flipped through them absently, humming occasionally about something he thought he ought to remember. Payson stretched out on the floor, thumbing through a pile of forms marked 'urgent' in Summer's neat, flowing cursive. None of the papers appeared to actually _be _urgent and Payson huffed lightly, suspecting it was Summer's way of getting Sasha to actually sign the forms.

"Sasha," she spoke up as she reached the end of the stack. "All these forms need your signature."

Sasha looked up, eyes questioning.

"It's just routine stuff mostly—making sure the elites are doing their schoolwork… oh and apparently, we need a new ice machine in the trainer's room." Sasha leant across his own stack of papers to sign Payson's.

.

An hour later, the desks and in-trays were clearer than Sasha had ever seen them. He sat on the sofa and stretched his legs out towards the opposite wall, nudging Payson with his toe. She yawned. It was almost eleven.

"We need to talk about the awards," Sasha reminded her gently. "They're a week away and we still need to get trophies engraved."

Payson pulled herself to her feet and wandered over to the corner of the room where she had left her bag. She pulled out her iPad, toed off her shoes and padded back to the sofa, hopping up beside Sasha and curling into his side. He tensed slightly and then relaxed again; Payson pretended not to notice his sharp inhalation. She tapped against the screen of her tablet and pulled up a careful plan to show Sasha.

"What would you do without me?"

Sasha nodded his agreement—to her choices for the award winners _and _to her insinuation that he'd be lost without her. It had taken him years to realise, but it had been true ever since he arrived at the Rock—without Payson, he considered himself a lesser man.

"Why did you come back?" he asked suddenly. He handed back her iPad and twisted in his seat to face her. His movement jostled her just enough to make her lift her head grumpily, blonde hair pulled messily from the neat braid she had sported all day.

"Someone has to take care of you," she pointed out with a shrug. "I was hungry and I know you wouldn't have eaten if I hadn't brought food."

Sasha raised an eyebrow, unsurprised at her assessment. His lack of culinary prowess was not a secret. Payson yawned a deep, eye-watering yawn and Sasha chuckled, nudging his shoulder against hers.

"Come on, let me drive you home. You'll be back in the morning; you can pick up your car then."

"How am I supposed to _get here_ in the morning without my car?"

Sasha raised an eyebrow pointedly as he looked down at his young assistant coach.

"I'll swing by at six to pick you up." At her own raised eyebrow, he continued: "Fine—I'll swing by at five thirty to pick you up."

It was a done deal—he kept to his word; the following morning, he sat patiently outside her house as she jogged out, damp hair in a neat braid and chewing on half a banana as the clock on his dashboard flipped to five thirty. He had never had to wonder what life at the gym would be like without Payson Keeler and he hoped to God he never would.

* * *

_So I sort of lied: this was originally just a oneshot flash piece, but now I have a second and third part - the third part started life before the second, so this is a little bit of a transition piece. They're standalone pieces in that you can read any one (or two) of the three without the others and you won't struggle to follow them, but they do all exist in the world in which Payson came home fro London, went to say hi to Sasha and accidentally got hired as his assistant coach. _


End file.
